


About Hobbits

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [36]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6800491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Temperatures are finally rising, and Athos intends to make the most of it. So does Porthos, in his own way. Aramis is a little overwhelmed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



“Don’t push the earth around the plant down too firmly,” Aramis says patiently. “It needs room to breathe.”

Athos does as he’s told, and Aramis sits back on his haunches, watching him. He too needs room to breathe, but he’s not going to say that part out loud. He’s on the roof with Athos and Porthos, slowly but surely losing his mind.

After an annoyingly cold and nasty April, May has finally brought them sunshine and warmth, and Athos has taken on his roof-garden project like a man possessed.

That, in itself, is not a problem.

The problem is that Athos has next to no knowledge about gardening, and needs help. Help Porthos cannot give him, because he’s even worse than Athos when it comes to plants and their needs, and keeps abandoning the greenery in favour of doing sit ups, or pushups, or whatever else there is to distract Aramis and take his breath away.

Porthos is wearing a crop top. _A crop top_. It’s grey and bears a faded Captain America shield at the front, and it drives Aramis absolutely bonkers. He keeps staring, fantasizing about licking Porthos’ abs.

This is not conducive to his work.

Athos doesn’t appear to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care. He’s spent the last two weeks ordering soil and plants, and making Constance fume by interrupting Aramis at work to ask for advice when the internet was confusing him. Since Aramis has learned gardening from his parents and is really the only one of Athos’ acquaintance he could ask (apart from the gardener at la Fère maybe) Aramis can’t really blame him.

It’s just that this garden is on the roof, and Aramis is afraid of heights, and Porthos is really too much.

Otherwise this is lovely. Aramis bites his lip, and tries to focus on what his hands are doing.

Athos has lined the huge flat roof with a broad strip of grass, and decided that he wants a flower bed on the southern edge. Thus they’re planting tulips next to the grass now, together with creeping buttercups, bleeding hearts, ivy-leafed toadflax and really anything else that took Athos’ fancy at the garden market.

Now he’s talking about putting down a frame of stones around the flower bed; Aramis likes the idea, says as much.

He’s already very fond of Athos’ flower bed; it’s colourful and beautiful and a little wild, and Aramis likes the work. He likes to have his hands in the soil, enjoys the sun and the breeze, and that he’s doing this together with the two people he loves most in the world.

If only Porthos would refrain from grunting while going through another set of his workout, and the flower bed wasn’t quite so close to the edge of the roof, this would be so much easier.

Next to him Athos is smiling, gently giving another flower a home, and Aramis goes rather warm. It’s different from the warmth he experiences when looking at Porthos, but then Athos is wearing old ratty jeans and a brown shirt that so obviously belonged to Porthos once that Aramis probably would fit in there with him.

“We should stop soon,” he says quietly. “Your neck is getting red.”

Athos is still comparatively pale after the sun made them wait for so long, and Aramis reaches out without thinking, puts his hand on the heated strip of skin at his nape - watches Athos close his eyes in reaction. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Athos replies, just as quietly. “It feels nice.”

His voice is soft and intimate, and Aramis holds his breath for a moment.

He will never get over the fact that Athos enjoys being touched by him, that Aramis’ closeness is something he searches out instead of avoiding it. With everyone else Athos is such a private, reserved person, not rude but … distant. With Aramis and Porthos he’s … Aramis can’t describe it, can’t find the words.

He’s … he’s _Athos_ , pure and unfiltered … unafraid.

Touching him like this, being allowed to share this secret with Porthos - it is special, and Aramis will never stop being grateful for it.

He watches Athos plant the last flower, and then he gets up to get the watering can - a necessary and harmless errand, in theory. But Aramis stands up a little too quickly, is not quite secure on his feet after crouching so long under the spring sun. That, combined with the mistake of looking past the edge of the roof, sends a pulse of panic-fueled nausea through his system, makes him gasp.

A second later Athos is right next to him, one arm slung around Aramis’ hip to keep him still and upright. His body is a warm, solid presence, and Aramis closes his eyes, presses into him. “Sorry.”

The breeze lazily plays with his hair.

“Are you feeling sick?” Athos asks him. “Is it the heat?”

Aramis realizes he never told him, and lets out a shaky breath. “No. I’m … I’m actually afraid of heights.”

There’s a dangerous pause. Athos’ arm around Aramis’ middle goes rather rigid. Aramis very carefully keeps his eyes closed.

“Porthos,” he hears Athos say, a sharp edge to his voice, “get over here right this second.”

Porthos obediently interrupts his workout to join them. “What’s goin’ on?”

Aramis finds it very difficult to refrain from opening his eyes and take a peek at Porthos’ no doubt glistening abs. It is quite the feat of self-control.

“Your boyfriend is afraid of heights,” Athos informs Porthos testily in the meantime, “and you did not tell me.”

Porthos snorts and puts his hand under Aramis’ chin, rubs his thumb over Aramis’ bottom lip. “I’m supposed to be omniscient, am I?”

“Yes,” Athos confirms in a humourless voice. “Instead of allowing me to rope him into this sort of work, you should have -”

Aramis opens his eyes at this point, and takes Athos’ hand. “I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “And I’m your boyfriend, too.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Porthos grinning appreciatively.

Athos frowns, ever so slightly. “You should have said something.”

“Maybe,” Aramis concedes, “but then you wouldn’t have let me help you with this, and I really wanted to.”

Athos looks uncertain, and Aramis gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “I really am fine, Athos. I promise.”

“I do not want you to be uncomfortable up here,” Athos replies firmly. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

“Palisades,” Porthos says promptly, and Aramis finds himself nodding in agreement. Something to break up the wide open space and shelter behind would work wonders for him.

“For shade,” he adds. “You liked the wisteria at the garden market, remember? We could plant it next to it and let it overgrow the wood.”

Athos smiles in approval.

Porthos sighs, and finally lets go of Aramis’ chin. “You’re going to move in up here, aren’t you? I’ll totally have to get a beehive to keep myself entertained.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> working with three lovely bunnies this time, [ONE](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/139597564984/tst-bunny-aramis-and-his-fear-of-heights-i), [TWO](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/139541175434/plot-bunny-dyi-time-im-not-sure-why-because), [THREE](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/138910410439/tst-bunny-athos-working-on-his-rooftop-garden)
> 
> my gratitude to the purveyors!


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis is in the shop, furiously at work on a beautiful summer dress with a cherry blossom print when his phone rings.

Across from him, Constance makes a sound not unlike that of an annoyed magpie. “I will cut your pay this month if you take that, I swear to God.”

Aramis freezes in the movement of reaching out for his phone, and bites his lip. It’s true, he’s been spending an awful lot of time answering calls on her time lately. He should probably turn the phone off for a while. Yes.

But he can see the caller ID from where he’s sitting, and ignoring Athos like this is already making him feel a little miserable.

Constance groans. “Alright, alright - but you’re totally getting us ice cream later.”

Aramis flashes her a grateful smile and hastily picks up the phone. “Yes?”

“I need something for bees,” Athos says without preamble. “What do bees like?”

Aramis has to grip the table for support. “You’re not seriously putting a beehive on the roof?”

“Porthos likes honey,” Athos says, as if that explains everything. Which it does, in a way.

“What if one of the tenants is allergic?” Aramis asks, trying to be reasonable. The more he thinks about this, the more the idea appeals to him. Having their own beehive would be awesome. His Dad would get a happy aneurism if he knew. Tony loves bees.

“Oh,” Athos says then, evidently sobered by Aramis’ objection. “I shall make an enquiry.”

With that he hangs up the phone, and Aramis grins to himself, continues to work on the dress.

“My Mom keeps bees in her garden,” Constance offers out of the blue. “I could ask her for advice, if you like.”

“That would be great!” Aramis beams, delighted. He’s totally going to get Constance a huge tub of pistachio ice cream later. She deserves it, simply for being her.

“So how’s your roof garden coming along?” she asks, grinning a little when Aramis pauses to think, unsure where to start. “At the rate Athos is going he’ll have to purchase more property soon.”

She’s not wrong. He doesn’t manage to tell her. His phone rings again.

This time it’s Porthos.

“Athos just texted to tell me that he wants us to go and buy a couple of deck chairs today after work,” he growls into the line. “Apparently he’s too busy with somethin’ else to take care of it himself.”

Aramis, aware that Porthos is as close to being annoyed with Athos as is possible for someone of his endless patience, makes a soothing noise. “Tell him to send a car around then - we can go to Milady’s, spend some of his money.”

That makes Porthos perk up right away, just as Aramis intended. “Eh, I like that!”

Aramis feels a little guilty for appropriating Athos’ riches like this, but then again he’s sure that Athos won’t mind. Not even a little. Athos doesn’t care a fig about money, possibly because he has so much of it. At least that’s what he told Aramis the last time the issue came up.

They end the call so Porthos can text Athos about their intentions, and Aramis puts his phone away, bends over the cherry blossom dress once more. Then he pauses, looks across the room at Constance.

“Are you free this evening? Do you want to join me and Porthos shopping and come home with us afterwards?”

She smiles at him. “Oh, most definitely. I wanted to see that fancy department store ever since you told me about it.” She tilts her head, purses her lips. “You’re sure Athos won’t mind?”

“Yes,” Aramis replies firmly. “He likes you. A lot.”

Constance looks very pleased with that information for a moment. Then she frowns. “He’s not going to hound me about d’Artagnan again, is he?”

All Aramis can do is shrug and try to hide his grin. “He’s pretty preoccupied with his garden lately, but I’m not making any promises.”

 

“That,” Constance says firmly, “is the wrong way around. Turn it over. No, not like that. No - no, oh God, let me have it.”

Athos lifts both hands and moves away from the deck chair, and Constance takes over. It takes her half a minute to assemble the thing, and when she’s done Porthos puts his barbeque tong down to clap.

“That was beautiful.”

Athos glares at him.

“What? You’re sayin’ it wasn’t?” Porthos teases him.

He’s been busy in the kitchen, making salad and bread, and now he’s thrown enough meat and sausages on his brand new grill to feed a small regiment of soldiers.

“You better hurry up with the rest of the chairs,” he comments. “I’m almost done here.”

The evening is warm and balmy, the air heavy with the scent of flowers, and Aramis goes down to his knees to help assemble the remaining chairs. They bought quite a lot of those this afternoon, complete with cushions as well as two tables, and a number of huge candles and lanterns for when it gets dark.

The smell of the food lures Miss Daisy up the fire escape, and she streaks around Porthos’ legs, purring prettily.

“No,” he tells her briskly. “You’re too fat already.”

“Aw, pssh, don’t listen to him,” Constance murmurs, petting Miss Daisy’s fluffy head. “But the spices are bad for you, so you can’t have any.”

The cat meows and purrs a little louder and insists on sitting in Constance’s lap when they eat.

It does make matters a little difficult for Constance, and Porthos shoots her a knowing grin. “Told you she’s too fat.”

“She’s a big cat,” Constance replies, nose in the air. “As are you. I’m not telling you you’re fat, am I?”

“I’m not insistin’ on sittin’ in anyone’s lap while they eat,” Porthos points out.

Constance twinkles at him. “I’m sure your boys would let you.”

“Definitely not,” Athos says immediately.

All Aramis can do is blush.

Porthos is wearing that damn crop top again, and all those sit ups have worked their inevitable magic. Porthos looks delicious. Aramis would totally let him sit in his lap, eating or not.

On the other side of the table Athos looks more flushed than delicious. Aramis will have to insist on putting some moisturizing cream on him before he goes to bed. He doesn’t want Athos to get sunburn.

Athos hasn’t mentioned anything about the beehive or the result of his enquiry so far, so Aramis keeps his peace as well. Either one of the tenants really is allergic, and Athos doesn’t want to bring the matter up just to disappoint Porthos, or he wants to install it as a surprise.

Aramis bites his lip.

He’s got a really bad poker face.

This could get difficult.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun has sunk below the horizon, and Constance has gone home.

Aramis is horribly comfortable in his deck chair.

Athos produced a very good bottle of red wine from a cooler several hours ago, and Porthos lit the candles and lanterns surrounding their table once it got dark.

It is a quiet night, the sparse traffic down on the road sounding very far away, and the stars, popping up one by one, feel very close.

Aramis is looking up at them, cradling his wine glass in his palm, deeply grateful for being allowed to have this moment. He takes another sip of his wine and carefully puts the glass down on the table, tells Athos no when he asks him if he wants a refill. He doesn’t want to get drunk. He’s already feeling pleasantly loose, and he knows all too well how very little alcohol his body tolerates.

So instead of filling Aramis’ glass Athos fills his own.

Even from the distance and in the comparative dark Aramis can tell how flushed he is, and he cannot be sure if it’s the wine or the sun that has caused it. Maybe both.

Athos has been up on the roof almost all day, tending to his garden, and Aramis wouldn’t wonder at it if he’d gotten sunburn. Athos also drank that bottle of wine pretty much by himself.

Touching Athos’ cheek proves to be an irresistible impulse, and when Aramis strokes his thumb over the warm skin Athos closes his eyes and keeps himself perfectly still. “Do I have something on my face?”

“You’re a little red,” Aramis tells him, shivers pleasantly when Porthos reaches out to him in turn and strokes a gentle hand over his neck.

“So are you.”

Porthos’ voice is very low, and Aramis hears the smile in it, promptly blushes a little harder.

“We’d better go inside, eh, call it a night,” Porthos says after a moment of comfortable yet strangely breathless silence. “I wanna take a bath before bed.”

Aramis very deliberately does not look in his direction. The crop top would inevitably make him do or say something stupid. He has no idea why such a skimpy article of clothing has such a powerful effect on him, but then he was always weak for Porthos’ general everything.

Having his belly button on display like this - not to mention the happy trail - is just too much.

Aramis clears his throat, tries to conjure up the image of Porthos’ horrible Christmas sweater with its horrible fat reindeer nose. “We should clean up then.”

It takes them a moment to find their usual balance in the dark, as if the heat of the day and the comfort of the moment has made them clumsy with content. Nevertheless they manage to bring everything down into the apartment without breaking something. Even Athos’ expensive wine glasses remain intact.

Contrary to the tableware, the deck chairs and tables remain on the roof, as does Porthos’ new barbeque. The weather forecast hasn’t even hinted at rain, but if the weather should turn out to be contrary, both furniture and barbeque are made of sterner stuff. They were built to last, and should survive a few drops of water.

So Aramis closes the door to the stairwell behind himself, listens for the lock to click shut, and follows Athos and Porthos into the apartment. Inside its walls it’s just as quiet as on the roof, possibly even more so. It’s certainly warmer.

Athos walks from room to room to open all the windows and let in the night breeze, and Aramis follows Porthos into the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

He’s a little tired and a little tipsy, and very, very warm - the kind of warmth that seeps into your bones and makes you feel heavier, sluggish and satisfied. A little slow.

When Porthos stoops to turn on the tap over the tub Aramis pauses, clears his throat.

Porthos shoots him a look from the corner of his eye, knowing and fond. “You’re welcome to join me.”

He straightens, leaves the giant tub to fill by itself, and steps up to the sinks to brush his teeth. Once that’s accomplished he pours a generous helping of bath essence into the tub, and Aramis closes his eyes when the smell of lemon and verbena fills his senses.

He hasn’t moved since Porthos made his suggestion - hasn’t said anything either.

Athos steps into the room before Aramis can make good on that omission, and in the uncompromising light above the mirror it becomes clear that he’s both sunburned _and_ a little drunk.

Aramis makes a clucking noise and finally moves, tells Athos to wash his face and accosts him with aloe lotion directly afterwards.

Athos keeps gratifyingly still as Aramis fusses over him, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, and Aramis can’t resist brushing a kiss to his lips once he’s done.

“There,” he murmurs. “You should be fine now.”

Athos thanks him in a warm little voice; behind them, Porthos strips.

Both Aramis and Athos turn to look at him; Porthos pretends he doesn’t notice.

He climbs into the tub and stretches out with a pleased little sigh, adjusts the water temperature. Only then does he turn his head to look at them. “You’re both invited to join me.”

Aramis can’t resist any longer. He’s burned through all his self-control with the crop top already. Thus he undresses as well, his fingers feeling clumsy on the buttons of his shirt, pulling down the zipper of his jeans. He’s already aroused, if only a little, both from the way Porthos is watching him and sheer anticipation.

“Come here,” Porthos says, once Aramis is naked, and reaches out his hand to him.

Aramis follows his siren call with a faint smile, climbs into the tub and surrenders himself to Porthos’ embrace.

The water is lukewarm, but Porthos is very hot, and Aramis shivers, closes his eyes.

“You can come too, love,” he hears Porthos say. “If you wanna.”

“I won’t fit,” Athos replies softly. He doesn’t sound nearly as adverse to the idea as Aramis expected him to.

“Sure you will,” Porthos says gently.

Apparently Athos is just drunk enough to give it a try.

Aramis opens his eyes just in time to watch him strip, bites down on his lip to keep himself from making a noise. Through the open window he can hear sounds of the outside world, car engines and birds and insects, even the occasional human being, but in here none of that matters.

Athos is joining them in the tub. Voluntarily.

Aramis is not sure he’s going to survive this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look, I found another [BUNNY](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/138782526384/if-you-dont-mind-yet-another-bunny-heres-the), nibbling at the tulips in Athos' garden


	4. Chapter 4

Athos remains next to the tub for a long moment, naked, visibly uncertain how to proceed.

Beneath Aramis Porthos shifts, moves in the warm water until Aramis is secure on the right side of his body - until there’s a comfortable gap at the foot of the tub.

“Come on in,” Porthos says, and Athos moves right away; he carefully climbs into the tub and allows Porthos to pull him in, until they’re all spread out next to and on top of each other like sardines. Very happy sardines.

Aramis sighs blissfully. “I love that the tub is big enough for this.”

Part of him is amazed by this development - by the calm and self-assured way Athos joined them. The rest of him is buzzing with joy.

Athos blinks at him, apparently realizing only now how very naked they all are.

Aramis smiles encouragingly and reaches out to distribute a blob of aloe more evenly across his still-red skin. Although it is less reaching out and more of a careful manoeuvre to get his hand up without elbowing someone, possibly himself.

In retaliation, Athos reaches out and circles a curious fingertip around Aramis’ right nipple.

For a moment all Aramis can do is stare.

Then the sensation of it catches up with him - the warmth of Athos’ fingertip, its roughness and pressure, the way it moves over Aramis’ skin without even a hint of reluctance.

Aramis gasps and bites down on a moan, and his stunned gaze meets Athos’ contemplating expression.

“Does that feel nice?” Athos asks him.

Then he pinches Aramis’ nipple.

Aramis whimpers and closes his eyes, nods ever so slightly.

“Jesus, Athos,” Porthos breathes by his ear. “How much wine did you have?”

“Only that one bottle,” Athos replies serenely, back to circling that curious fingertip. “And I shared that with you.”

Porthos brushes a kiss to Aramis’ no doubt burning cheek. “Do we think he’s drunk?”

“I am not drunk,” Athos says, very quietly. “I just want to touch Aramis. Surely I need not be drunk to do that?”

He strokes his palm over Aramis’ chest then, transfers his attention to the other nipple. Stops. “Unless this makes him uncomfortable?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, until Aramis realizes that his input is required. He manages to open his eyes, somehow, and look at Athos, despite the fire in his cheeks and growing interest of his cock.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he says, words slurred by how much this is overwhelming him. “But you -”

“I am not uncomfortable either,” Athos informs him calmly, sends a little blip of euphoria up to Aramis’ brain. “May I touch you some more?”

For a moment Aramis feels too hazy with sudden arousal to offer a reply. Then he swallows convulsively. “But I -”

“You may climax whenever you need to,” Athos tells him reassuringly.

At that Porthos curses and presses his forehead into Aramis’ shoulder. “I hope that goes for me as well.”

“Of course,” Athos says generously.

Still he waits.

Aramis is by now half hard, and Athos must notice.

When Aramis peeks to check, Athos is looking down between them, eyes on Aramis’ hardening cock. He looks more interested than anything else, and Aramis has no idea what to do with himself.

Then Athos looks up, looks right into Aramis’ eyes, and smiles. “May I?”

All Aramis can do is nod.

His reward is Athos’ hand on his cock, warm and steady, and unbearably gentle. He doesn’t so much caress Aramis as study him, but the result is the same. Aramis grows hard and sensitive in his hand; because this is Athos touching him, Athos who hasn’t been with anyone in ten years, who has such beautiful hands that Aramis has spent hours fantasizing about them touching him like this. Touching him a lot more than this.

The sight of Athos thumbing away the precome from the tip of Aramis’ cock is at once surreal and supremely arousing. Aramis pants. So many of his fantasies have started like this. No, never quite like this. While Porthos was often there as well, they were never in the tub, never so _comfortable_.

Instead Aramis ended up on his knees in the living room a lot, oftentimes in front of the couch.

Aramis blinks the vision away, tries to focus on reality, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Behind Aramis Porthos keeps still and quiet, because he knows how significant this moment is. Maybe he even knows about Aramis’ dirty mind. No, he certainly knows about that.

And then Athos abandons the study of Aramis’ cock to return his attention to his chest, and it’s so _good_ ; Aramis feels so needy, his skin so eager to be touched, warm and wet and shivery.

Athos circles and pinches his nipples until they are red and tingling, and then he leans in, slowly and with intent, teases them with the tip of his tongue.

It’s so very unexpected that Aramis’ breath catches in his throat, just to escape a long moment later with the horniest of moans.

It’s then that Porthos finally moves behind Aramis, that he puts his hand to Aramis’ cheek and turns his head so he can kiss him - so he can muffle the endless sounds of longing falling over Aramis’ lips.

It’s perfect. It’s deliriously wanton.

Aramis feels liquid between them, tired and warm and safe, his whole body singing with pleasure.

It reminds him of the day Porthos tied him to the bed - when he took his sweet time to play with Aramis, long enough that every touch, however light, turned into a caress, every kiss into a drug, and Aramis into a mindless addict.

He can’t keep his hips still anymore, moves them up and down, slowly, not yet desperate, but hopeful, and Porthos growls.

Athos lifts his head.

Looks at them.

Aramis knows Athos is looking at them because right at this moment he’s horribly aware of everything inside their little bubble, and entirely oblivious to anything else.

“You are beautiful,” Athos tells them.

A heartbeat later he’s touching Aramis again, is stroking his palms over Aramis’ skin, in and outside of the water, and Aramis breaks the kiss with Porthos so he can watch, can watch the movement of those hands. He licks his lips when Porthos brushes his mouth to his shoulder, evidently unwilling to cease and desist with the love-making.

Porthos too is watching Athos, and when he reaches out and takes Athos’ hand into his, Aramis very nearly whimpers, none too sure as to why.

Porthos is merely holding Athos’ hand after all.

Porthos is holding Athos’ hand, and Athos smiles at Porthos, and then he leans in, gives Aramis a kiss, urges Porthos’ fingers to close around Aramis’ cock.

 

They’re in bed half an hour later, hair wet in places, still smelling of lemon and verbena, and Aramis struggles with reality.

“I’m not dreaming you, am I,” he murmurs, on the brink of sleep. “That happened.”

“It happened,” Athos whispers into his ear, spooning him quite comfortably. “I enjoyed myself quite a lot.”

Aramis shivers pleasantly at the admission, and mushes his face against Porthos’ chest. “You’re real too, yes?”

“Very,” Porthos rumbles above him and drops a kiss on Aramis’ forehead. “Though I can’t blame you for doubtin’ it.”

“My behavior was not that improbable,” Athos claims. “I always enjoyed touching people.”

“Balderdash,” Porthos says, emphatically.

Aramis giggles.

“Alright, then I always enjoyed touching you, and Aramis,” Athos amends. He pauses. “My face feels hot.”

Aramis turns around in his arms. “I brought the aloe lotion. It’s on your bedside table.”

Athos turns on the light, and Aramis fusses over him with the lotion again, and eventually becomes aware that Athos is looking at him with the softest eyes and an impossible smile to match.

“What?” he whispers.

“You truly enjoy being teased, do you not?” Athos whispers.

Aramis goes hot all over. “Why?”

Athos strokes one gentle fingertip over the bridge of Aramis’ nose. “Because I enjoy teasing you.”

“Jesus Christ, Athos,” Porthos growls behind them.

Athos grins, winks at Aramis. “I think Porthos enjoys it, too.”

Aramis starts to feel bubbly with excitement, despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Are you going to do it again?” he asks.

“Yes,” Athos says, after a brief moment of consideration. “I believe I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> working with three lovely bunnies this time, [ONE](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/139597564984/tst-bunny-aramis-and-his-fear-of-heights-i), [TWO](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/139541175434/plot-bunny-dyi-time-im-not-sure-why-because), [THREE](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/138910410439/tst-bunny-athos-working-on-his-rooftop-garden)
> 
> my gratitude to the purveyors!


End file.
